Previously Posted Elsewhere
by Beechwood0708
Summary: 5 old fics, pre-Remove Before, that I was too scared to post here at the time. Proof of why you should always practise with oneshots first. The 1st 3 sort of follow on, and are my fave kink. 1st is only T-rated, the rest definitely M. Last stretches that.
1. Meant to Be a Joke

Hola. I'm catching up with the reviews, aren't you proud! But I'm still not back on the first page.

To apologise, here's some old kink, which Hattie has once again persuaded me to post. Love you, Hattie, hehe.

This first one was written lord knows how long ago, the first kinky fic I ever wrote. It's very tame, I would say no more than a T rating.

Warnings: Kancho, a bizarre phenomenon found mainly in Japanese elementary schools, and some very tame spanking.

Meant to be a Joke

It hadn't been something he'd ever thought of before.

All he'd been thinking about that morning was the joke he was going to play on Howard; something he had read about on a website run by a man from America who lived in Japan.

He stalked through the shelves, camouflaging himself against his own glittering additions to the stock, creeping closer and closer to his target. There was Howard, leaning over the counter, checking something on a list or some other just as dull thing, bum sticking right out. Vince crept forward, silent like a ninja, two fingers pointed out straight.

"KANCHO!" he howled, ramming his fingers right between Howard's cheeks.

The sound Howard made was not far off a full-blown scream. "You… little…"

The grin dropped from Vince's face. This was the Serious Pissed Off Look. This was the look that promised "the post that hurts the most", "a whole new world of pain" or whatever Howard's threat of the month was. This was the look that wasn't just going to talk about it, but might just actually try and do it.

Vince ran away.

Howard crashed about behind him, shouting orders at him to stop, and telling him just how sore he would be by the time Howard was through with him.

"I didn't mean it mate, it was just a joke!" Vince tried to reason as he did his best to evade Howard's capture.

But eventually, Howard managed to corner him against the counter. Left with nowhere to go, he tried to climb over the counter, but Howard grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pinned him down over it. There was an oppressive silence, during which Vince could somehow feel that Howard was ready with two fingers behind him.

"Look, mate, I didn't mean to make you jump ten feet in the air," Vince begged. "It was a joke, it was meant to be funny! I'm sorry if it wasn't, but I wasn't trying to hurt you or nothing!" No response. "Howard, please."

Howard's grip on his shirt loosened. Vince sighed with relief. "Let that be a warning to you," Howard scolded.

And then, quite suddenly, Howard's hand had connected with Vince's arse. It wasn't a hard or a heavy smack, just one light swat, barely more than a pat, but it affected Vince in some way that was entirely unexpected. It didn't even hurt, but it left him with a sort of tingling sensation that he doubted was a physical feeling.

He spent the day trying to forget about it, but the thought kept coming back, like your dinner after you drink too much.

He had done wrong, and had his bottom smacked like a child. And he had liked it.

* * *

Of course, it would be that evening of all days when Naboo chose to complain about some kinky new stock.

"Who they hell is going to buy these?" he asked no one in particular, holding up a thin cane made of rattan twisted with some other, jet black material. Vince stared intently, but out of the corner of his eye so no one could see.

"And this thing?" Naboo continued, running a black riding whip with a ribbon-covered handle through his fingers. Vince's heart began a-thumping. He had involuntarily begun to imagine what it might feel like to get that across his arse. The thought made him tingle again.

"I suppose we could flog this to someone a bit horsey," Naboo thought out loud. "And the cane to those people who like to pretend to be Victorians…" He continued to root through the box of stuff. "But- urgh! Frilly handcuffs! Who in their right mind wants frilly handcuffs? Were they designed by someone blind? And this thing."

Naboo now held up a short, fat wooden paddle with a big black satin bow on the handle. "This is disgusting."

Vince was inclined to agree.

"Look at those holes," said Naboo, sticking his finger through one. "You could give someone blisters with that."

Vince shuddered. Smacking was beginning to feel oddly appealing, but blisters, thankfully, were still as repulsive as ever.

How would it feel if Howard really whacked him…?

"Vince? Vince?" Vince snapped back to attention. Naboo was staring at him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," Vince answered, his cheeks beginning to burn. He thought he caught a sardonic eyebrow flicker upwards slightly on Naboo's face.

"I'm going to bed," was all Naboo said. "Goodnight."

"Night," Vince replied, trying to sound carefree and unembarrassed, and failing.

He waited a moment. When he was sure Naboo was gone, and wouldn't be spying on him or anything like that, he got up and crept forwards, and reached into the box. He pulled out that hideous paddle, but rather than thinking about how ugly the thing looked, he had a curious urge just to touch his behind with it. Glancing nervously around, he held its solid mass to his hip. Listening to the air, he began to move it back.

A door somewhere in the flat swung open, and fast, heavy footsteps came down the corridor. Hurriedly, Vince tried to put the paddle back in the box like it hadn't been moved, but as his hand shook, it fell to the floor, spilling kinky toys everywhere.

And Howard, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers, stood behind him, face covered by an expression of disbelief.

Vince took a nervous step back and almost tripped, his face flushing.

Howard's face slid into an unnervingly teasing smile. "Vince Noir, you naughty, kinky boy," he said, licking his teeth as he watched Vince's terrified face. He came forward and draped his arms around Vince's waist. "What would your papa say?"

Vince could only make odd stammering sounds, and Howard giggled.

"Well, your papa's not here, is he," Howard murmured, turning to the sofa and leading Vince towards it. "So it looks like I'm going to have to do his job."

Howard perched himself on the arm of the sofa, and almost without effort he lifted Vince slightly off the ground and positioned him over his lap. Vince gasped as Howard pulled him over slightly so that the sofa was taking most of his weight.

He felt Howard briefly tickle his side, and then felt his breath as he leaned forward to whisper in Vince's ear. "You'll thank me for this eventually."

Howard's warm right hand left Vince's side and raised up in the air, before landing with a firm slap on Vince's bottom. Vince squealed, though from pleasure or pain, he wasn't sure. This was a proper smack, stinging and sharp. _Slap!_ The next one fell before he was ready, sending shots of pain through him. _Slap!_ His rear felt aflame already. _Slap! Slap!_

Vince struggled, and in response he heard Howard chuckle and felt him wind his left arm around Vince's torso to hold him in place.

_Slap!_

Vince struggled more assertively, and Howard allowed him to break free. Vince looked up, expecting to see anger, but instead was met with guilt and apology.

"I'm sorry Vince," Howard said, still perched on the arm of the sofa. "I thought you wanted it."

"Well… I did," stammered Vince. "But-"

"But what?" demanded Howard. Vince gulped as he saw the understanding on Howard's face replaced by calm but strong ferocity. Howard got up and advanced on him, and Vince backed away in fear. "Am I not sexy enough for your sordid little fantasies?" He pushed Vince roughly in the chest. "Well? Is that it?"

"No, I-"

"Go to bed," Howard ordered, before pushing past him and disappearing into his own room.

Shaking, Vince did as he was told. He lay on his back, his bum not irritating him, but rather spreading a feeling of warmth through his body. It only hurt a little, and he was quite disappointed.

Why had he broken away? He'd been dreaming of that situation all day. He hadn't for a second expected it to happen, but it did.

That was it. He hadn't been expecting it.

He hadn't thought that Howard would notice for a second that the swat he'd been given in the morning had aroused him, and so to see him talking dirty and trying to be authoritarian had shocked him. He certainly hadn't expected to be put over Howard's knee and spanked like a Deep South schoolboy.

He'd apologise to Howard in the morning. That would be the best thing. In private. And then maybe Howard would scold him for being stupid, and tell him that next time he earned punishment he'd better take it. Then maybe he'd be bent over whatever was nearby, the sofa or Howard's bed or whatever, and Howard might even take his jeans down, and then he'd carry on where he'd left off the night before. Then he'd really make Vince sting…

Maybe he should apologise now.

No. No, the morning would be best. He'd be more likely to get a slap in the face if he did it now, and that wasn't as sexy.

Dreaming of increasingly risqué punishments, Vince drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When he got up, Howard was sitting in the living room, just staring into space, or so it seemed. Vince had planned his approach. He knew about apologies, whether real or faked out of necessity, and the best thing to do was to appear very meek so you'd be more readily forgiven and in a better position to get what you want.

Although a bare-arsed spanking is an unusual thing to want, but Vince didn't have the time now to think up an alternative approach.

"Howard," he said quietly, making sure to keep his head down but give eye contact when Howard turned.

"What?" Howard's voice was stern and annoyed, and his face was still irate.

"I'm sorry about last night," said Vince. "I wasn't expecting it. I got scared."

He saw Howard's face soften. Score! cried his internal cheerleading squad. Howard patted the seat next to him and Vince sat down. Howard smiled and opened his arms. "Come here."

Vince accepted Howard's embrace and cuddled him tightly, whilst all the time trying to manoeuvre his behind into Howard's hands.

"Vincey," chided Howard, pulling Vince forward onto his back to cradle him. "If you want another spanking like that, you'd better do something to deserve it."


	2. If You Were Mine

The second. More gratituous than the fist, and with something of a plot. I was still too bloody scared to use the word "cock" though. Enjoy, even if only by laughing at it.

Warnings: Catsuits, bitches, too much plot, roleplay of a sort, more spanking. This one I would say is M rated.

Forgot to disclaim: I don't own them. They own me. This is what they do to me through the power of telepathy.

If You Were Mine

Vince didn't see why he should have to suffer just because Howard was infatuated with Lula. Lula clearly wasn't worth his time. She was so far up her own arse that she couldn't see that she had nothing to be up her arse about. All she could ever see was her own rectal passage, which was always clear because all the shit came out of her mouth when she talked to people. Her name wasn't even Lula; it was Dolores. She had just read somewhere that Dolores was another version of Lola, but decided that she preferred Lula.

And for whatever reason, probably to entertain the pack of hyenas she called her mates, she had decided to string Howard along. Vince didn't see why Howard didn't realise that Lula and her mates were bitches. Though to be fair, it was probably for the same reason that Vince hadn't realised until half of them had played kiss-and-tell with him to the rest of the pack, and just what they had kissed wasn't something Vince was anxious for the rest of the world to hear about.

So Howard was talking to Lula, and they were both talking shit. Howard couldn't help it, and Lula probably could. He was alone, and she had the pack standing a few paces behind and giggling in the most subtle way they knew how, which meant just about audible over the DJ.

Vince felt he was being chivalrous. He was saving Howard. Saving him from embarrassment and downheartedness at the hands of Lula. The fact that he was also saving himself from another long, pointless monologue that communicated nothing but how much Howard misunderstood everything that went on around him, and the fact that he planned to save Howard in the cheekiest way possible were irrelevant.

He was dressed in silver and black; a sort of catsuit with most of it missing. Large, asymmetrical gashes had been cut from the material to show off Vince's pale limbs and torso, including two thin, teasing rings of material that exposed his nipples. It had pissed Howard off no end.

"You're wearing _that_ to a party thrown by someone you don't even like that you don't even want to go to?" he had said, gawping in disbelief.

"That's the point of it," Vince had replied. "If you're going to hate it, you have to turn up and be the sexiest person there hating it. That way, everyone else will see you hating it and they'll realise that they have to hate it too."

"That's gone wrong," said Howard in disbelief. "Go and put something else on."

"What?" cried Vince. "No way! I've been planning this for weeks. I'm digging the sexy spy look."

"I didn't realise there's much call for the spy that's already been caught and tortured," Howard retorted.

This was Vince's cue for his widest, cheekiest grin and the pressure of his nimble fingers on Howard's waist. "Torture doesn't have to be an unpleasant experience, you know," he pouted.

Howard widened his eyes a little in a way that was probably meant to be seductive, but came out a bit scary. "You're pushing your luck," was all he said before he had dragged Vince out by one of the holes in his catsuit.

Vince had taken this as a sign to keep on going. And so, as Lula talked down to Howard and Howard failed to notice that Lula was laughing at him internally and her mates were laughing at him in the more obvious way, Vince decided to interrupt them in the most flirtatious way he could.

He snuck up through the flashing neon lights, crept up behind Howard, wrapped his arms around him and bit him on the shoulder.

"Ooow!" Howard gasped, turning sharply to face Vince once Vince had pulled his teeth out. "What the hell was that?"

"Felt like coming over," said Vince.

Howard glared at him. "You just _bit_ me."

"Didn't you like it?" asked Vince, in the coyest voice he could pull from his versatile vocal cords. Not waiting for an answer, Vince proceeded to lick at the offending teethmarks tenderly, yet unnervingly eagerly.

Howard pushed him away. "No," he growled. "Get off me."

"He doesn't leave you to anyone else, does he," commented Lula through the cigarette she wasn't meant to be smoking inside.

"No, he doesn't," agreed Howard. "Don't worry; he'll be dealt with."

"What, right now in the bogs?" Vince asked, sounding like he was joking, but secretly trying to telepathically beg Howard to say yes.

Unfortunately, Howard's response was a shove and a curt "Get away from me."

Dejected, Vince had obeyed, and gone off to harass more attractive people he had no intention of spending the night with. He enjoyed himself, but not as much, he thought, as he would have with Howard. Vince couldn't explain it, but there was something about Howard that made him just so much fun to tease. But unfortunately, his good-natured friendly teasing had been spurned in favour of the subtle, cutting teasing of Lula van Brust.

He was saying something to her now. And she was replying with an evil grin on her face. Then she walked away. Vince could see her snickering with her mates over where the music was quieter. He looked back to Howard, who looked shocked, appalled and very very sorry for himself.

"You alright?" he asked, coming over.

"That bitch," moaned Howard. "That devious sly bitch."

Vince wrapped his arms around Howard's waist and gave him a cuddle. He couldn't help noticing Howard letting out a little laugh.

"I'm going," Howard told him, pushing his arms away. "Bye."

Howard went out towards the door, and Vince followed. "I'm coming with you," he insisted.

"Why?" asked Howard.

"Because if the best looking person there leaves early with you, then everyone knows it's a crap party," Vince explained, walking next to him down the street towards home.

"Thanks, Vince," replied Howard, voice irate and dripping with sarcasm.

"Plus, it gives you some credit too," Vince persisted. "If I'm seen leaving with someone as odd-looking and uninteresting as you, them they'll know that you really are a cool person after all."

"Well that's so much nicer," snapped Howard.

"Just 'cause you can't handle it."

Howard looked down at Vince. "For god's sake," he sighed. "Will you put your kink away until we get home."

"What d'you mean?" asked Vince.

"I mean you've been practically begging for it all evening," replied Howard. "The flirting, the cheek, the biting. Oh, if you were mine…"

Vince smiled sweetly up at him. "I could be."

Howard just glanced down at him, then put an arm round his waist to hurry him on.

* * *

"Right," said Howard, smiling a particularly devious smile as they got back in. "You said you wanted it-"

"I do," maintained Vince.

"Well you're getting it," Howard continued. "First off, take that ridiculous thing off and put something vaguely normal on."

"Can't I just take this off and put nothing on?" asked Vince.

"Right, six extra," Howard informed him.

What? Vince hadn't realised he was counting. He suddenly realised that his heart was pounding three sambas at once, and he was starting to shake.

"You can strip to your underwear, if you prefer," said Howard. "Just do it quickly."

"Erm, I'm not wearing any," replied Vince.

Howard stared. "You went out in that, with no underwear?"

Vince gulped and nodded. Much as it excited him to think of, Howard's dominant persona was quite a scary person.

Howard was shaking his head disapprovingly. "You little harlot, how dare you." He took a few steps closer to Vince. "That must be worth an extra nine on its own."

Not caring any more what Vince had to say, Howard came over, took him by the arm and pulled him along to the sofa. Vince struggled, but purely out of a sense of playfulness, planning full well, as he had been for a long time, to go along with whatever Howard wanted to do.

Howard sat down and pulled on Vince's arm so that his smaller body fell forward onto Howard's lap. Howard was taking his full weight this time, and his arms and legs were left to hang down to the floor. No sofa to make it comfortable this time. It sent waves of electric wonderment flowing through Vince's body to find himself in this position again, all powerless and vulnerable, completely at Howard's mercy and, because of the design of his catsuit, not far from bare-arsed. This time he would endure the whole thing.

"You've been very very naughty, Vince Noir," Howard scolded, running his hands all over Vince's body; down his spine, around his sides, and of course, over his round and thinly-covered bottom, always pinching and squeezing. "Very bad and cheeky indeed. What do you have to say for yourself?" He didn't expect or wait for an answer. "It's about time you were properly punished."

"Hit me, Papa Moon," Vince gasped eagerly.

Howard paused, and Vince felt like he was hanging as he waited for the smack to come, until Howard spoke. "Don't call me Papa, Vince; that's incest."

"No it's not," argued Vince, "because you're not really my papa."

"Four more for arguing," Howard told him.

"Can I call you Padre?" Vince asked, unable to stop himself from giggling. "Then you could pretend you're a priest, and I'm your bad little altar boy."

"Call me Papa if you have to," Howard sighed. His hands started to run all over Vince's body, and he laughed like he had just had the greatest idea since Bond movies. "Papa Moon, international terrorist crime lord."

"What?"

"And you, you careless little thing, will never spy on me again."

"Bond'll save me," Vince argued.

"Bond's not coming," whispered Howard. "He's dead." He slipped his fingers under Vince's catsuit and fingered his skin. "You're mine."

His hand moved back from under the catsuit and found its way back to the raised curve of Vince's backside, taunting Vince as he waited for it to rise. "And you will _never, ever_ cross me again, or _betray_ me to those _bitches_ at MI6."

Even just those four swats had left him with a lingering, smouldering pain. His rear felt cold in the absence of Howard's strong hand, and he longed for its swift return. Howard leaned down and kissed him along the back of his neck. "I'll make sure of that."

Howard's hand strayed back to squeeze his tingling backside again, making the fresh pain flare up at his touch. _"Oh god,"_ Vince gasped.

"Are you enjoying this?" Howard asked him, in a way that caused Vince to feel the aroused sneer on his face.

"Yes," Vince breathed.

He heard Howard take a breath, almost disapprovingly, and then suddenly Howard's hand rose from Vince's bottom and landed with another stern smack.

"You're not meant to be enjoying it."

Howard pulled him forward, closer to Howard's own abdomen, and Vince winced at some unexpected friction between his pelvis and Howard's thigh. Howard's arm wrapped around his waist in a strong, pinching grip, and Howard proceeded to give him a fast, hard peppering. Vince squealed and squirmed as smack after smack after powerful stinging smack bounced off his flaming backside, each new shot of hot burning pain having no chance to subside before it was hammered in by another.

Then, just as suddenly, he stopped.

"Now, my adorable little prisoner, I don't want to hear a sound out of you," Howard instructed. "You've done enough singing to my enemies. You will take your punishment in silence, and if you don't, then I'll whack you harder than you've ever been whacked in your life. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Vince said, his voice strained.

Howard gave him a sharp pinch on the rump.

"Yes Papa Moon," Vince corrected himself.

"Good boy," smirked Howard. "Not a sound, now." He laughed, quite sadistically. "Feel free to squirm, though."

Vince bit his lip just in time to feel the first slap. He breathed in sharply, and he thought that Howard had paused to listen, but if he had heard, Howard let it slide. He slapped Vince again, and again, and again, until his backside stung so much that Vince lost any ability to tell when he was being struck and when he wasn't.

But he did as he was told and held his tongue, enduring his torture by writhing and struggling. As it began to hurt more than he could handle, he grasped at Howard's calf, earning himself a firm smack on the back of each virgin thigh before Howard resumed his torturous thrashing on Vince's bottom. Eventually he could take no more, and let out a strangled cry.

Howard stopped spanking.

"Get up," he ordered.

Shaking, Vince obeyed, using the floor and Howard's thighs to support him. Once he was on his feet, he swayed, feeling dizzy and unsteady. Howard stood and put his arms around Vince's waist, just as Vince's legs failed to hold him and he fell back.

Now being contrastingly gentle, Howard shifted Vince into the crook of his left arm, so that his right was free to stroke his hair and his flushed face. He leaned in and kissed around Vince's eyes, and it was only then that Vince realised he'd been crying.

"Shh," Howard soothed him. "Such a sweet, docile prisoner."

He carried on kissing Vince, moving down his cheek, and eventually conquered Vince's mouth with his own. This Vince hadn't planned on. He had been dreaming of spankings and nothing more, and to see this development occurring scared him a little. This coupled with the weakness that had come after the spanking made him too tired to respond. He let Howard's tongue invade his mouth as he lay back in Howard's arms, drained and breathless.

As Howard pulled back, Vince realised something else, and so did Howard.

"I think my prisoner has a little prisoner of his own," Howard laughed, eyes cast downward. "Well, some prisoners should always be set free."

He smiled wickedly, then reached his right arm round to the back of Vince's legs and scooped him up into his arms. "And some shouldn't."

He went on through to Vince's bedroom, carrying Vince to the side of the bed and grinning wickedly.

"No," Vince tried to plead, but Howard ignored him and dropped him down onto the bed. Vince cried out as his sore rear hit the mattress and all the pain that had gradually dissipated since the spanking had ended came flooding back. Howard just laughed at him.

"Strip," he commanded.

Obediently Vince got up, but still weak and shaking, he was forced to lean on the bed. He felt Howard come up behind him and begin to undo the various fastenings on the back of the catsuit and peel it from around his body. As he stepped out of it, feeling relieved to be free of the tight material, he twisted his head and saw Howard looking down, admiring his handiwork. Howard put his hands on Vince's hips, and then moved them back to rest on his arse-cheeks. His touch was light and gentle and his hands felt cool on Vince's hot flesh, and so it felt soothing, rather than aggravating as Vince had expected.

"Do you feel punished?" Howard asked.

"Yes Papa Moon," Vince whispered in reply.

Howard's hand snaked around his hip and fingered his erection, not enough to satisfy anything, just tightly enough to tease.

"I don't think you've been punished," Howard told him. "I think you enjoy it too much. I'll tell you what, I'll give you ten more, nice and slow, and if you can take them without coming, then your punishment's over."

"Okay," Vince agreed.

Howard moved to Vince's side. "Bend over," he instructed.

Vince leant forwards with his hands on the bed as Howard rested a hand lightly on his shoulders. His other hand caressed Vince's behind. "Can you feel that alright?" he asked.

Vince replied the affirmative.

"Good," said Howard. "I want you to count them out loud."

His hand left Vince's bottom and crashed down with what felt to Vince like a small explosion.

_Smack!_ Right cheek.

"One."

_Smack!_ Left cheek.

"Two."

_Smack!_ Right again.

"Three."

_Smack!_ Left again.

"Four!" He almost shrieked.

_Smack!_ Both cheeks at once.

"Five!"

By now he was trying not to scream, and he could feel himself about to burst at any second.

_Smack!_

"Six!"

_Smack!_

"Seven!"

_Smack!_

He came, spurting a white stream across the sheets.

He heard Howard give a disapproving sigh and felt Howard's arm take him round the waist. Fear flushed through him.

"Please don't!" he begged. "No more. I'm tired. It hurts."

It must have sounded pathetic, but he really couldn't handle one more stroke. To his relief, Howard's other arm took hold of him by the other side and Howard turned him to face him, before pulling him close and letting him fall on him. Howard ran his arms up and down Vince's naked back, slowly and soothingly. Then they came to rest on his stinging rear, still cool, but the right hand a little warmer after dealing out the smacks. Vince leaned on him, groaning in relief, his hands up on Howard's shoulders. Howard's hands left Vince's backside and made their way back up to his head, and cradled it as Howard kissed his forehead, eyes and cheeks.

Vince noticed he'd started crying again.

"Come on," whispered Howard. He released his warm hold and led Vince to his bed. Vince lay down on his side, and Howard lay next to him, still touching him and whispering to him comfortingly.

"Shh," he whispered. "Don't cry. It's alright. You're mine now."


	3. Play

I think this is where they start to get vaguely good. In this one, there's a relationship! And it's even more graphic.

Written for a prompt on a kink meme on LiveJournal: simply 'Vince getting a good spanking from Howard and loving it'. I got this idea when my mind ran away with me midway through an episode of Babylon 5. And in case anyone hasn't figured this out by now, these are pure self-indulgence. It's only coincidence that other people like them too.

Play

Vince sat on Howard's lap, excitable, fidgety and bored stupid.

Howard was engrossed in whatever old sci-fi happened to be gracing catch-up TV at the time, and Vince couldn't be arsed with it. Uniforms, he decided, should always be fleshbaring and made of PVC. Never ever functional.

"Howard," he whispered, leaning close to Howard's ear. Howard just grunted, never taking his eyes off the telly. "Howard," Vince moaned again, louder and more irate this time, before leaning over and giving Howard a sharp nip on the ear. "Howard."

"Not now," grumbled Howard. "I'm watching this."

"Howard, play with me," Vince said, giving Howard his best sad-puppy look.

"When it's finished," Howard maintained.

Vince sighed. Wanting the attention Howard was giving so freely to the television, and wanting it now, Vince decided to play anyway. And if Howard didn't like it, then Vince was just going to keep playing until he did. He leaned up and nibbled Howard's ear again, enjoying the movement of Howard trying to move all attackable parts of his anatomy out of the way of Vince's hands and mouth, getting more and more annoyed by the second. The frustrated but not nearly stern enough smack he received for his troubles served only to spur him on.

"Vince," Howard snapped, grabbing his wrists and trying to push him as far away as possible. "I will play when it's finished, and you can either sit still till then or you can go on the floor."

Vince weighed up his options, but still decided that a coy smile, a clever evasive manoeuvre and a grab at Howard's shirt was the best to go for.

All too soon he found himself shoved to the floor.

Sighing in mock-contempt, he got up and attempted to replace himself on Howard's lap. But Howard, stubborn mule that he was, knocked Vince back down with his feet every time he tried to get up. Giving up, Vince huffed and shuffled over to the sofa, where he tried to make himself comfortable alone.

Ten minutes, and he caught Howard glancing over. Sad-puppy face time.

"You can come back," Howard told him. Vince got up and practically jumped back over to him, but Howard held him back. "As long as you behave yourself while my show's still on."

Vince gave a nod and a look of disappointed agreement, and Howard allowed him to settle back down on his warm thighs.

Soon, but not soon enough, Howard's abysmal sci-fi show finished, and the ending credits had barely begun when Vince twisted in Howard's lap and straddled him.

"Can we play now?" he asked.

"Not yet," said Howard, smiling wickedly.

"Why not?" Vince pouted. "You told me-"

"Yes, I know I told you," Howard replied lazily. "But my darling has misbehaved, and so my darling has to be punished." He looked Vince right in the eye, an act that still surprised Vince at any time, but when the look was this evil, this sly, it made Vince shiver. "Doesn't he." He pulled Vince over, back onto his lap. "I think six ought to be enough, over the knee, right now." That smile was really starting to creep Vince out, and Howard was looking at him in the most disturbingly expectant way. "Turn over," he ordered.

Vince thought, and then just looked at him. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you won't be allowed to play," Howard answered.

Vince sat back, looking up languidly. "I think I can wait till we're in bed."

Howard laughed, deep and mocking. "Who says you'll be allowed then?"

Vince flashed him a momentary look of shock. It was quick, but not quick enough, and Howard caught it.

"If you don't take it now, and you wait till bedtime, I'll double it," threatened Howard.

Vince hummed, pretending that he was giving this serious reflection. "And if I decide to ignore you and play anyway?"

Howard smiled at him like they were anywhere else, in public, talking about anything. "Then I'll grab you, pin you down and spank you till I think you've had enough, and then, when you've calmed down and you see the error of your ways, I'll give you the spanking I meant to give you in the first place, plus extras."

As Howard looked at him causally, probably still expecting him to do as he was told and lie over Howard's lap like a good boy, Vince hopped onto his feet, crossed the room and sat back on the sofa.

"Suit yourself," said Howard, who got up and left for the haven of the bedroom.

* * *

Catch-up TV never showed anything good. How long had it been? Just over an hour. That must be enough time now. Howard would be missing him.

Casually, indifferently, Vince entered the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. The main lights were off but the bedside lamp filled the room with a soft glow.

"Come for your punishment?" Howard asked idly. God, was he still on that?

"No," answered Vince. He sat still for a moment, before diving onto Howard and gnawing at every inch of naked flesh he could find. And everyone knew what an exhibitionist Howard was, given half a chance.

But with one shove from Howard's arm, Vince found himself flung to the side. Seeing Howard's mass sprawling towards him, he tried to crawl away, but after a moment's scrambling he found himself unable to move, pinned under Howard's left arm.

"Buggershit," he muttered.

_Whap!_

Howard's quick hand flashed and went, leaving a tingling patch of pain. He struggled, trying to straighten his legs and push away, but Howard's arm held him firmly in place, and his hand returned for another stern slap on his thinly-clad bottom.

_Whap!_

What was it someone had said about tight trousers intensifying pain?

_Whap!_

They were bloody right.

_Whap!_

His backside was burning, actually burning, but Howard's hand just smacked faster and faster, oblivious to the searing pain he was in.

He heard Howard laugh at him.

No, he's not oblivious, Vince thought, he's just having fun.

As Howard whacked harder, faster, stricter, Vince started to squirm and struggle for his life. He cried out, gasping and squealing as his sore arse got hotter and hotter.

He knew now that tight trousers caused more than one painful problem when you were being mercilessly spanked.

He reached down, trying to undo his jeans to relive the pressure, when Howard, noticing what he was doing, tightened his grip around him, squeezing him into Howard's side and restricting any access to his cock.

"When I say," Howard scolded, squeezing and smacking like a propulsion engine. Where the hell did he get so much energy from?

His backside flaming, his cock driving for release and his mind unable to focus on anything other than hot pain, he finally screamed.

And then nothing. Cold, silent nothing.

Howard let him drop.

He lay on his front gasping for a moment, before the uncontrollable strain drove him to jump to his knees and pull down his jeans, exposing his swollen, wanting cock to the open air.

He grasped it, heaving a sigh of relief.

Howard's arm came snaking around his waist, and his other had landed sharply in a strict smack on the back of his left thigh.

"And that's for not wearing underwear again," Howard reprimanded him.

Not caring any more what Howard had to say, Vince stroked gratefully at his bursting cock.

Howard watched in amusement for a moment, before grabbing his wrists, both in one hand, and pulling them away. "No," he said.

"What?" choked Vince. "Why?"

Howard glared at him, eyes stern, face set. Then he reached round and slapped Vince on his other thigh. "Because you do what I say," he told him. "And I say no."

Howard let go of his wrists, and he knelt uncomfortably, hands by his sides.

"Bend," instructed Howard.

Vince leaned forward and rested his hands on the bed in front of him. He felt Howard's hands grope at his arse, feeling and stroking, now unbelievably gentle. Vince leaned back into the soothing massage, groaning in pleasure. Then groaning in pain as he realised that this was only making him harder.

Howard stopped. He moved away and sat on the edge of the bed. "Here," he ordered.

Vince crawled over to join him.

"Over," instructed Howard, patting his thigh.

Vince just looked at him in apprehension.

"Vince, we agreed this," sighed Howard. "Come on; lie over."

Almost trembling, Vince obeyed. He felt his own cock press oppressively into his belly.

"Twenty-four," Howard told him.

"What?" Vince shrieked. "Twenty-four?"

"Yes, twenty-four," repeated Howard, as though to a particularly stupid child. "Six for being a brat, six for refusing to take your punishment earlier, six for coming in here and trying to avoid it altogether, and six because I just like watching your arse bounce."

Vince sighed, more than a little genuinely afraid. He felt Howard's hands, noticeably cooler now, stroking over his arse-cheeks again, caressing them tenderly.

"Now," he said. "You may squeal. You may struggle. But you may not deliberately try to escape, you may not swear, and under no circumstances are you to come on me. If you come," he said, his voice becoming much sterner, and his fingers closing in a vicious pinch on Vince's arse, "you'll get another twenty-four very soon after."

Vince desperately wanted to argue, but held himself back, knowing that with Howard in this mood, he could only make it worse for himself.

"Do you understand?" Howard asked.

Vince nodded.

"Good boy," Howard chuckled.

Vince shuddered as Howard's left hand stroked his back and curled around his side, just over his ribs. He held his breath. He waited.

_Smack!_

He bucked as all the pain he had sustained since being caught the first time came flooding back into him at once.

_Smack!_

He cried out.

_Smack!_

He swore his cock was getting bigger underneath him.

_Smack!_

How the hell could he endure twenty more of these?

He writhed and shrieked as Howard's firm palm came crashing down again and again. He kicked and grasped in desperation as whack after whack landed, retreated, and then landed again harder. His bit his tongue to stop the forbidden expletives from escaping.

He couldn't hold back any longer. He was ready. He was very, very ready.

Tim Curry in anything other than Rocky Horror.

Margaret Thatcher.

_Hold it, hold it…_

Michael Jackson.

He could feel himself about to burst.

Howling Jimmy Jefferson.

Howling Jimmy Jefferson in a cocktail dress.

Howling Jimmy Jefferson in a ripped cocktail dress and stockings.

He could still feel his cock straining. His bottom seared with the force of Howard's tyrannical smacks. How many had he taken? How much longer would he have to endure this?

_Smack!_

Fuck it. Another twenty-four; why not? He'd spent hours before now trying to coax spankings out of Howard; he might as well take them when they came.

_Smack!_

A warm spurt bounced off his belly and dripped down onto Howard's thighs. Then another. And another.

Howard made a noise of mock-disappointment. "Twenty-three," he sighed. "And you were doing so well."

His nails dug into Vince's side as Howard raised his hand and delivered the final stinging smack to Vince's scorching bottom. Then he pulled him up, dumping him onto the bed and causing the pain in his sore backside to explode like a firebomb at the contact.

"Darling, darling," he smiled. "You don't ever learn your lessons, do you."


	4. Untitled SabooMoss crack

And this is where things start to get interesting. Crack doesn't really come easily to me, and if I'm honest I don't always like much of it, but this just had to be done. Another prompt from the same meme, this time asking for crack pr0n between Saboo and Moss.

Warnings: Blowjobs, clone porn.

Double Ayoade! That's not a warning, that's an advert.

Untitled Saboo/Moss crack

"Kirk! Is it true you have discovered a way to use a person's waste products in an infusion to create a physical clone?"

"No."

"Then why has one of them come over to fix that machine you use to look at porn?"

The man, standing there with the oddest expression of confusion, was almost painful to look at. He had Saboo's face, only minus the sexy beard, his body, only minus any sense of suave or sophistication, and even, as Saboo had noticed when the man had awkwardly introduced himself as Maurice Moss or some other such terrible name, Saboo's voice, only with nothing worthwhile to say.

This was the last time he would tolerate any of Kirk's twisted experiments.

Having shown him where Kirk's porn-machine was, Saboo decided to leave the travesty to it. He seemed to know what he was doing and didn't ask for anything, and the last thing Saboo wanted to have to do was explain their physical identicalness to someone who looked like he'd seen 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers' so many times the situation would seem normal to him.

Kirk was nowhere to be seen. Saboo supposed he had retreated back into his sordid lair to look at virgins and attractive transvestites on CCTV, or whatever it was he did in there. But he had left something, a not-too-dubious looking pitcher, presumably to entice Moss to stay in the debauched pigsty that Kirk called home. Almost suspecting he might regret it, Saboo took a little for himself. Then he did regret it. Kirk never just left anything lying around. But he didn't feel lightheaded, or faint, or liquefied, so he supposed he must be safe.

Saboo decided to hang around for a while. Though the thought of having such an inescapably gormless clone repulsed him, he felt a strange sense of duty to protect him from whatever advances Kirk might secretly have planned.

No advances came.

Maybe Kirk was waiting. Or maybe, as Moss' fashion sense caused Saboo to think might be the case, there might be a chance that Kirk for once wasn't interested.

Saboo decided it would be safe for him to leave.

Moss was kneeling on the floor, bending over Kirk's porn-machine. Now Saboo was not a vain man, at least not with regard to his physical appearance, but it suddenly occurred to him that this Moss had Saboo's arse. And though he might not be vain, Saboo could not say he was particularly modest either, and it was rather a nice arse if Saboo did say so himself. And whatever could be said for Moss' terrible design aesthetic, he certainly knew how to use said nice arse, as Saboo could tell by the way he was bending over.

Was it right to think in such a way about a man physically identical to him, Saboo wondered. Well, why not? After all, he was attractive.

Saboo did a double take as he realised that he had unconsciously drifted over to Moss while he was pondering. He was now standing directly over him, and he realised with a shock that his hands were held out in position to cup his own clone's arse cheeks.

This was too wrong. He needed to get away. And quietly, so the clone didn't realise.

But as he took a step back, Moss turned to face him. His face unreadable, he raised shaking hands to the waistband of Saboo's tights, exposing his half-erect cock.

"What are you doing?" Saboo choked.

"My mother said that when faced with a rapist, you should indulge them and try to make a compromise."

"O-kay…" That was seriously fucked-up. "I'm not a rapist," Saboo pointed out.

"Oh," said Moss, looking at his face for the first time since he arrived. "You look like one."

"Have you ever met a rapist?" asked Saboo.

"No…" admitted Moss from the floor, "but you struck me as what one might look like."

Before Saboo could think of a sensible answer, or even register his own disbelief, he felt the warm, wet sensation of Moss' lips around his cock. He gasped as his member sprang to life, and Moss took him a little further in. Moss began to pump and suck rhythmically, his body swaying in time to his sucking as Saboo's vision began to blur. The moist suction ran in tingling waves through Saboo's body as he forced himself to refrain from grabbing Moss' thick, voluminous hair. He cried and moaned, which Moss seemed to take as an indication that he should go faster and harder, until Saboo let out an odd squeak and came into Moss' mouth.

Moss swallowed, visibly retching. "Are we evens?" he asked.

Saboo could only nod.

Moss crawled away, apparently too desperate to escape to bother getting up off the floor, and fled through the front door.

Saboo fell onto a chair, breathing heavily. Once he had recovered himself, he turned his attention to the entrance to Kirk's lair.

"Kirk!" he called. "Is it true you are a notorious porn-peddler, selling on illicit videos of fellatio induced by secretly planted date-drugs?"

"Yes!"


	5. Untitled WRONGness

And this is where I get very very wrong. This is the second-wrongest thing I've ever written, second only to the second part of the extended edition of Once Upon A Boosh. Which you can find at h t t p : / / c o m m u n i t y . l i v e j o u r n a l . c o m / b l u e b o o s h / if you want to see it.

This was written for another prompt on the same meme, from obeythebunny, who anyone who has LJ should check out, cuz she's cool.

I think it was meant to be crack, but as I say, I'm not very good at that.

Hattie, your constant reviewings have been wonderful. I may actually be in love with you. And all you others who I know have been reading this- drop me a line, yeah. I'm not as scary as the fics are. Honest!

Warnings: Full on bumming... with a zombie.

Untitled Wrongness

The little one looked up at him, and Dennis could still spot some trace of fear left in the dead eyes. He was on his knees, tired from the effort of moving while dead, skin pale grey with no blood to colour it, hair long and lank with no life to vivify it. He was afraid, and docile, the nature of the undead not having yet come over him. He must have a stronger will than Dennis had thought.

"Please," the little one said. "What's happening to me?"

"Little one, little one," Dennis laughed. What was his name, what was his name? Vince. Yes, Vince, that was it. "Isn't it obvious what's happened? You woke up without a pulse, so what must that mean?"

Vince hesitated, obviously knowing the answer, but fearing it was wrong, and not wanting the imposing shaman to laugh at him if it was. "I'm… dead?"

"Exactly," said Dennis, his mouth widening into a shark-like grin.

Little Vince dropped his head, and Dennis could see him twitch. But he wouldn't be able to cry. The dead just can't.

"I…I…" he stammered, gasping where he would have wept. "I don't know how it happened."

"No," said Dennis, as close to soothing as he got, which wasn't very close at all. "And you probably never will."

"Can you help me?" the zombie asked, hope and fear still just visible beneath the cloud of death and oncoming mindlessness in his eyes.

Dennis thought. "Perhaps…" he mused to himself. "While you still have the power of rational thought… while there's still some humanity left in you…"

He looked down at the kneeling zombie. The hope had taken over the fear now, and Dennis could see it shining like a weak torch through a curtain. He strode over and stood in front of him, then grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Vince fell forward and splayed his hands over Dennis' chest to catch himself. The coldness of the dead flesh sent shivers through him, and ran his hands down the slender corpse's back, feeling that gorgeous coldness through the thin cotton t-shirt. He moved his hands down to the firm round backside, cupping it and squeezing it. The coldness of the flesh had seeped into the material of the jeans. Or maybe it was just the cold of the ground he had been sitting on. It didn't matter; he had a nice curve, that was good enough.

Vince had stiffened in his arms and was looking up at him, unnerved by the physical attention. Or maybe it was just the rigor mortis advancing. No, surely that couldn't happen so rapidly. It was usually such a slow process, and this boy had had no trouble moving when he had arrived just half an hour ago. He was afraid. Good. Dennis liked them scared of him.

He moved his hands round to the front to toy with the low-rise waistband of the jeans. Just in time, he became aware of Vince's mouth darting towards his shoulder, teeth bared. He shoved him away, so hard he almost fell, then dealt him a good slap to the cheek. The zombie's head jerked to the side, a trace of purple already beginning to appear on the greying skin. Dennis stepped up to him, grabbed him and pressed him close to his body, one hand gripping the hair and keeping the mouth away from him, the other pressing on the soft cold curve of the dead boy's rear.

"Never!" he shouted, landing a brutal smack on the beautiful plump arse, feeling the dead flesh bounce under the stroke. "Ever! Try! To! Bite! Me! Again!"

Vince was leaning on him, exhausted and breathing heavily as though it might have any effect. Seeing him properly disciplined, but still knowing the threat he would pose once the violent nature of the undead took him over, Dennis removed the sash from his robe and forced it into Vince's mouth, pushing him backwards into a thin tree. His cock twitching as he listened to the frightened zombie's protestations, he secured him tightly by the face to the tree. He took a rough rope from his robe, which he kept on him at all times in case he should need to restrain a foe that needed to be kept alive, and as Vince struggled to push him away, Dennis caught his wrists and forced them behind the tree, where he bound them together.

Vince's eyes were wild. The nature of the zombie was beginning to appear in him. Dennis would need to be quick.

He threw off his robe, exposing his naked body to the cold evening air. As he advanced on his captive, he felt his erection grow when the terrified little creature tried to shuffle around the tree. He laughed as Vince failed to move himself an inch. Dennis had made sure that his restraints were tight enough.

He stood over the trapped zombie, smirking and laughing softly, and tore the fly button from his jeans and ripped them off his cold slender legs. Vince was already hard; his cock stuck up like a flagpole. Cadavers tended to, Dennis recalled. Muscles contracting from the rigor mortis, or some such thing.

"No!" Vince begged, his voice muffled by Dennis' sash. "Please! Please! No!"

Dennis laughed a little louder. Watching Vince struggle against his bonds, he stroked himself until he was fully hard, then sneered at Vince and grabbed his thighs. He pulled the boy's feet from the ground and held his legs apart, then thrust upwards. Vince screamed through his gag as Dennis had to force his way in. That would be the rigor mortis again, Dennis thought. It always made them so deliciously tight.

Vince did his best to scream and kick, but the bonds and Dennis' unrelenting hold had him firmly under control. He thrust slowly but cruelly, relishing in Vince's cries and screams. It was cool inside him, wet but beautifully, refreshingly cold. And so tight. Squeezing, pinching.

Dennis came, his hot cum feeling strange against the cold interior of his victim. And as he leant into Vince, panting and groaning, he felt the zombie come too, lukewarm spunk coming out in a half-hearted burst.

Dennis pulled himself out, wiped himself off and slung his robe back over his body.

As he turned away, he heard Vince's muffled cries, and with a feeling of sympathy or teasing mockery, they were all the same to him, he turned back to the boy and removed the sash from his mouth.

"Was that it?" Vince asked. "Will that cure me?"

"What, that?" Dennis smirked. "No, that was purely for my enjoyment. I'm afraid there's nothing that can be done for you."

There was pain and betrayal in his eyes now, but Dennis could barely see it through the veil of death. Little Vince didn't have long left now until he succumbed.

Dennis walked away and left him, shouting and screaming for release. He would never get it.


End file.
